wered
conspicuous among a row of stolid Frisians on the quay, all gazing
gravely down at us as at a curious bit of marine bric-a-brac. The
twins (for such they proved to be) were most benignant giants, and
asked us aboard the post-boat galliot for a chat. It was easy to
bring the talk naturally round to the point we wished, and we soon
gained some most interesting information, delivered in the broadest
Frisian, but intelligible enough. They called the 'Kormoran' a Memmert
boat, or 'wreck-works' boat. It seemed that off the western end of
Juist, the island lying west of Norderney, there lay the bones of a
French war-vessel, wrecked ages ago. She carried bullion which has
never been recovered, in spite of many efforts. A salvage company was
trying for it now, and had works on Memmert, an adjacent sand-bank.
'That is Herr Grimm, the overseer himself,' they said, pointing to
the bridge above the sluice-gates. (I call him 'Grimm' because it
describes him exactly.) A man in a pilot jacket and peaked cap was
leaning over the parapet.

'What's he doing here?' I asked.

They answered that he was often up and down the coast, work on the
wreck being impossible in rough weather. They supposed he was
bringing cargo in his galliot from Wilhelmshaven, all the company's
plant and stores coming from that port. He was a local man from
Aurich; an ex-tug skipper.

We discussed this information while walking out over the sands to see
the channel at low water.

'Did you hear anything about this in September?' I asked.

'Not a word. I didn't go to Juist. I would have, probably, if I
hadn't met Dollmann.'

What in the world did it mean? How did it affect our plans?

'Look at his boots if we pass him,' was all Davies had to suggest.

The channel was now a ditch, with a trickle in it, running north by
east, roughly, and edged by a dyke of withies for the first quarter
of a mile. It was still blowing fresh from the north-east, and we saw
that exit was impossible in such a wind.

So back to the village, a paltry, bleak little place. We passed
friend Grimm on the bridge; a dark, clean-shaved, saturnine man,
wearing _shoes._ Approaching the inn:

'We haven't settled quite enough, have we?' said Davies. 'What about
our future plans?'

'Heaven knows, we haven't,' I said. 'But I don't see how we can. We
must see how things go. It's past twelve, and it won't do to be
late.'

'Well, I leave it to you.'

'All right, I'll do my best. All